


Silent Night

by ErinKeller



Category: Original Work
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M, POV Alternating, POV First Person, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 12:03:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2621027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinKeller/pseuds/ErinKeller





	Silent Night

Chapter 1

_Pete_

  
Some people love Christmas, some people hate it… and then there’s me. I’m not particularly fond of it, and yet here I am, ringing a bell dressed like Santa Claus. It’s not my fault if I haven’t found a better job. The crisis is affecting everyone. And if you’re among the ones who still believe in the American dream, well, keep dreaming and do it for me, too, because I suffer from insomnia and I don’t know what a dream is anymore.

I ring and ring and ring this fucking bell, as I watch the world passing by, and I smile to everyone, even though I realize that maybe I’m not such a nice person because I’d really like to stick out my tongue every time a kid insists to pull my fake beard. I also realize that there’s no “Santa” about me if I leer whenever I see a handsome man. Not quite right for the Christmas spirit and really unsatisfying, but that’s the only way I can find a bit of sense in this torture.

To add insult to injury I’m freezing my ass off here, standing on the sidewalk. I’m just lucky I have the padding. Not good for my self-esteem, because my waist looks like a lifesaver, but it keeps me warm. This winter New York seems colder than usual. The snow is everywhere and my nose is red, but not because of the make-up.

I keep ringing, walking up and down this stretch of sidewalk all lit up and full of shops. There are dark alleys that branch out to the sides, but I try not to look that way. They scare me. Sometimes it seems as this bright street is floating among a dark maze full of sadness and threats.

I’ve been ringing this bell for days now. Ten days of work to entice people to walk into a children’s bookstore. Giving free books, in my opinion, would be more effective.

And speaking of books, have you ever seen a hobo with a book? Okay, a homeless man. I know I’m not politically correct, but come on, let’s call things by their names. Of course, I’m aware that we’re talking about a person and not a thing, so stop wrinkling your nose. It was just a figure of speech, for fuck’s sake.

Anyway, I’ve been noticing him for a couple of nights now: a small figure crouched on the ground. I still haven’t managed to take a look at his face, because he is always curled up on himself beside the door of the old movie theater, which has been closed for years. He wears a hooded sweatshirt that makes it impossible to see his face, and he never raises his head. He wears dirty white sneakers and gloves full of holes from which his fingers sprout red from the cold. Unexpectedly, between those fingers, there is always a book. I don’t know if it’s always the same book or not, but it’s strange to see a homeless guy begging _and_ reading.

I’ve tried several times taking a peek of his face, but I’ve never succeeded. I’ve never managed to catch him while he leaves his place either. It’s almost as if he waits for me to be as far away as possible before he disappears.

He leaves in silence, in the same way he quietly sits on the ground during the day.

 

I bet you are wondering why I don’t go and talk to him, since I seems to care that much. But you are delusional if you think I actually care. I don’t care, to tell the truth. It’s just curiosity, not interest. Like an itch that goes away before you have the satisfaction of scratching it. It’s not that you miss the absence, but you know… a good scratch always gives some sort of pleasure.

The guy looks very young, certainly younger than me.

I’m thirty. I guess he is twenty-two or twenty-three. At least that’s what I think. If I could take a look at his face, maybe I’d figure it out then. I’m not saying I sacrifice my beauty sleep thinking about him, but still… I can’t help thinking that it would be a pity for someone that young to waste his days in such a pointless way if he is _that_ young. 

At times I do humiliating jobs and I never had a steady one, but at least I’m not freezing my ass off sitting on the ground for nothing.

Every so often, people throw him a few coins, so I think he has enough money to buy some food. 

Okay, I get it. I’m going to leave him a dime, so you can stop rolling your eyes.

 

Do you know what strikes me the most? That in all this hustle and bustle of people walking around like crazy ants with their load of gifts and packages, in this cacophony of sounds and songs, and fake laughing Santa’s, he stays there, a steady and silent presence, like a black hole that swallows noise and chaos and regurgitates them in the form of quiet.

  
  
  
 _Lucas_

_  
_You can’t miss something that you’ve never had, but I admit that during Christmas time I’d like to hear at least some sounds. Not all of them, of course, but a few.

From what I see, some sounds are able to put a smile on people faces, and I think it would be worth knowing them. Other sounds cause grimaces: some of them come from the cars, I assume, ‘cause I’ve seen people flinch while crossing the street with their hands full of packages, and then there are sounds like the one coming from the bell of that Santa Claus who passes in front of me every now and then.

I have no idea what a sound is like, because I’ve never heard anything in my entire life, but I can feel vibrations, especially the ones coming from the subway, or from car engines.

I am a silent witness watching a silent life passing by.

I am deaf and dumb, and when I try to make some sound, what comes out must sound weird, because more than once I happened to catch a glimpse in people eyes, a glimpse of embarrassment. So I stopped speaking at all.

I never talk, I know sign language and I really like to read lips, so I have enough knowledge to understand. And if I have to make myself understood, I always find a way.

I’m an orphan, and I arrived here in New York following my friend Pierre, who had big plans. It’s a pity that those projects ended up in smoke, literally, as he began to sell drugs. And because he was consuming more than he sold, his suppliers were quite angry with him. When he asked me to have sex with one of them, who thought I was _cute_ , so he could repay a portion of his debt, I decided it was time to leave. Immediately. Even though up to that time Pierre was the one who gave me food and a roof over my head. But it didn’t matter. I didn’t want to end that way. So I ran away in the middle of the night. Too bad I didn’t have a place to stay. I went as far as I could, and I arrived in this part of town a few days ago. I’m looking for a job, even a miserable one, but people don’t really want to risk hiring a deaf guy. They say it’s a matter of security, but I don’t think you need to have a superfine hearing to do dishes. I won’t stop trying, but in the meantime I have to find a way to make some money, otherwise I’ll always sleep outdoors and now the weather is very cold. I’ve found a sheltered spot in one of the alleys nearby and it’s already the third night that I spend there. Luckily I have my books with me. They are very few, because I couldn’t take them all with me, but at least they keep me company. Perhaps that’s why I chose to beg beside a children’s bookstore.

Books have always had the power to create sounds in my head, sounds that I’ve never heard in real life. Reading, for me, it’s like paying a visit to the _normal_ world, rather than to a fantastic one. 

I’m curled up in a corner and I usually don’t raise my head when someone drops some coins on the cardboard in front of me. I feel ashamed to show my face. I feel ashamed to be in this situation.

Only when I notice a flash of red near me, I decide to peek out from under the edge of the hood to realize what it is. 

I lift my face and I find myself staring at a pair of dark eyes – they are studying me with a strange expression – surrounded by fake beard and hair. It’s Santa Claus with his bell. His eyes look young, but I have no idea what he wants from me. His beard is moving, so I assume he is talking to me, but I can’t hear him, obviously. I blink and look at the cardboard. There is more money. Maybe it was him. I nod to thank him and then I go back to hide myself from the real, silent world, finding shelter in the one that’s inside my head, which is alive with the words of the book I’m reading.

 

  
 _Pete_

_  
_Holy shit, he’s gorgeous! Okay, I must admit that I wasn’t expecting that as I dropped my dime. I’ve only ever seen his shape, I’ve never seen his face and I didn’t expect it to be... like this. When he looked up, I was speechless for a moment and, considering my ability to give air to my lungs in inappropriate moments, it is a sign. A sign of what, I don’t really know, but certainly a sign nonetheless. The color of his eyes is... amber. I’ve never seen that shade. A hazel so clear that they look like small jars of honey. His skin is pale, except the tip of his nose, which is as red as mine, and his mouth is small, full, and pink. I must have a strange expression on my face because he looks at me almost intrigued, but he says nothing.

“It’s really cold tonight! Aren’t you freezing here? Come on, take the money and go grab something hot. It’s freaking cold!”

Those gems of honey look at me as if they didn’t understand. I’m aboutto ask him if he doesn’t speak English, or if he is deaf, or if he’s so stoned he thinksI’m really Santa Claus, when I see him nod and go back to reading his book.

That’s it. A nod.

He probably really has a few screws loose.

Or he is on drugs. But no, he doesn’t look like a junkie.

“As you wish. I was just trying to be nice. Sometimes I try so hard for nothing, huh.”

No reaction. He is already back to reading his book and he completely ignores me. Well, fuck it! I won’t give him another dime.

  
  
 _Lucas_

_  
_The air is getting cold and my eyes start to burn. My legs are numb. People keep walking back and forth. It’s amazing how New York is truly the city that never sleeps. I put the book in my backpack and I breathe on my hands to warm them.

While I’m doing this, my gaze falls on Santa Claus, and what I see makes me smile. He is not looking at me and he is scratching his ass. Then he shakes his legs and he arranges his big belt on his huge fake belly. Poor man, he is not feeling comfortable.

At least I don’t have to stand on my feet all day.

On the other hand he probably has a normal life somewhere, maybe even a family.

I would work as a fake Santa Claus, except that with the sounds that come out of my throat, I probably wouldn’t make a good impression. I’d scare the children. I might as well wear a Pennywise costume.

I bring my knees to my chest and I continue to watch him because there’s something funny about that man. And I’m not talking about the dress, but about the fact that you can see he is feeling uncomfortable and he doesn’t have the slightest desire in doing what he does.

Who knows who’s under the costume? And who knows what he was saying earlier...

Sure, I’m used to silence, and I always understand when someone speaks to me, but when I don’t have a clear vision of their lips I feel really impaired. The more I look at Santa Claus, the more curious I feel. Who knows, maybe even if he is a fake Santa Claus, and not a particularly good one, he said something nice.

Maybe he told me that everything will be fine...

I don’t know what gets into me, but after a moment I’m behind him and I’m tapping on his shoulder. When he turns around the surprise is clear in his eyes and I can’t help but smile a little.

Then I pull his fake beard down, so that his lips are visible and I stare at them intently. I usually watch the lips, but I don’t dwell on them in the true sense of the term. Generally they are just a channel that leads the image of a word into my silent world. But this time, while he opens them in amazement, I feel a sudden urge to taste them. Those lips are young, well-shaped and they look so soft. I release the fake beard that returns into place, and I walk away quickly, squeezing the belt of my backpack.

I think I’m getting crazy. The cold must have atrophied my brain. Not only am I a beggar, but I also go and annoy people now? I try not to ever raise my head for the shame of begging, and then I act like this?

I don’t get very far before I feel something pulling me back. I almost end up with my ass on the ground. I turn around and I see Santa Claus blinking at me. I see the beard moving and I tug it again, intercepting a “...ck are you doing?” I mentally complete the phrase that probably was: “What the fuck are you doing?”

I look at him and I know for a fact that my cheeks are flushed and I must have a puzzled expression. I shrug and continue to stare at his mouth, waiting for him to say something, anything that I would comprehend in some way. He looks at my hand holding the beard and I can tell he is trying to understand.

“Is everything okay?”

I nod.

“You do understand what I say, then?”

I nod again.

“But you don’t talk.”

I shake my head.

“Is it a choice?”

I shake my head again.

“And you can’t hear me…”

I shake my head again.

Santa Claus closes his eyes and I release his beard. I take my little notebook and the pencil that I always carry with me and I write fast. *Sorry, I can’t see your lips if they are covered by the beard. I didn’t get what you said earlier. And I realized that I’ve been rude. And you can’t be rude to Santa.*

I show him the paper and I see him smile and shake his head. He repeats what he said when he came to me and I blush. This is not what I had hoped – he’s not Santa Claus, for God’s sake – but it’s the cutest thing someone had said to me in a long time.

*Thanks* I write, and then I nod before turning around and heading back to the alley where I will sleep for another night.

  


_Pete_

_  
_Oh, fuck! For a moment I thought the guy was really crazy. He is not a child who can go around pulling Santa’s beard as if it were normal. Of course, he didn’t hurt me, but I felt entitled to go after him. Since calling him didn’t seem to work, I grabbed his backpack and pulled hard enough to make him stop. He almost fell, but I don’t really care.

What it really matters is what happens in the next two minutes.

What is important is how his honey-eyes stare at my lips and make me want to rip off this stupid costume, to grab his hand and take him home with me.

What is important is that the guy can’t hear and can’t speak and here he comes around, apologizing because he was rude to Santa Claus.

What is important is that he goes away and I can’t reach out to him again because a child clings to my leg, and I swear to God, I’d like to kick that kid away to get free.

I just want to feel those eyes on me again.

 

  
2.

  
 _Lucas_

  
What would you think of someone who sleeps in an alley, behind a dumpster, begging to be able to at least raise enough money to pay for a hotel room for a few days, and in the meantime spends all day sitting on the sidewalk, wishing to see Santa Claus?

Surely you’d think that this someone might have some serious mental issues.

Last night I practically ran away from him to go hide in my usual place. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t say anything and I had already made a fool of myself. Every time I think that I pulled at his beard, I feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment. 

There are a couple of nice homeless people here, and you know, it’s not easy to find them. Not because they are bad by nature, but because all they have is what they bring along with them or what they have found, and if someone tries to undermine their things, they become overprotective and occasionally a little aggressive. It didn’t happen with me. Julia and Marcus welcomed me into their alley, and I was allowed to stay close to their bin to warm me up.

They even gave me a cardboard to cover me during the night.

 

This morning I washed myself as much as I could in the bathroom of a bar Julia suggested me, and I went in search of a job, but I’ve found nothing.

So here I am, still sitting in my spot, looking at the people passing by. I have my book with me, so I start reading it, even if my eyes occasionally dart to the sidewalk, eager to catch a glimpse of red.

Unfortunately, no red for me tonight, and I’m feeling a little sad. I don’t know the man behind the Santa Claus costume, but he was the first ‘normal’ person – please, forgive me Julia and Marcus – with whom I interacted spontaneously.

I’m sure he is at home with his family. It’s Christmas Eve and he probably has lots of things to do...

I sigh and shake my head, but a moment later a hand on my shoulder makes me jump. I lift my head up and I find myself staring at a guy. He is smiling at me. He’s tall, with dark and wavy hair, and a nice body. But when I _really_ look at him straight... I blink. I’d recognize those eyes everywhere. It’s Santa Claus!

I raise my hand to greet him, then I get up from the ground and I clean myself as best as I can. I know it’s pointless, considering how nice and clean and tidy he is, while I’m just a hobo. For a moment I can’t help to feel lucky, because I had the chance to clean up a little this morning. I look him in the eyes and I reciprocate the smile.

“Hi,” he says. He is so handsome. His lips, free from artificial hair, are mesmerizing.

I raise my hand again to say ‘hi’.

“Tonight I didn’t have to work, so…I just wanted to see how you are doing. And, since you didn’t follow my advice yesterday, I’d like to take you to eat and drink something hot. What do you think?”

Oh, no. I can’t. I shake my head and I show him the little money I have in my pockets, then I look at him.

“Stop that. I didn’t say you have to pay. Come on, collect your things and follow me.”

I would refuse again, but he has already started to walk, and obviously I can’t yell to stop him. I grab my backpack and I do a little run to reach him.

 

  
 _Pete_

I bet I’ve shocked you. I’m not that bad, you know. There are times when I can be a decent human being, and a friendly one too.

I know you want me to admit I like the guy, so yes, I like him. I’m not a hypocrite and I would never say that I’m back only because I feel sorry for him. I’m not that good, not even during Christmas time. Well, of course, I feel sorry for him, but the main reason I’m here is that there’s something I like about him and I want to… help him. It’s Christmas Eve, for fuck’s sake, and I don’t like the idea of this guy sitting on the street, in the cold, all alone.

And the moment he looked up at me, the way his eyes lit up, well... it was worth it. Iguess he’s not a _true_ homeless. The way he declined my invitation, showing me his money for me to understand that he couldn’t pay, is typical of those who are not accustomed to rely on other people or ask for help. I wonder what his history is.

I open the door of a bar nearby and I look at him. He is following me, grasping the strap of his backpack, like his life depends on it. We take a seat and I smile, handing him the menu. He blushes and he points with his fingers at the third thing on the list: hot chocolate.

  
Two chocolates are steaming on the table in front of us and I take my time to observe this peculiar young man. He is holding the cup in his hands, probably to warm them up, and he’s avoiding looking at me. You can tell he feels uncomfortable. I touch his arm, because I’d like to talk to him and I want him to look at me. The fact that I also want those beautiful eyes fixed on my lips is secondary, really. Yeah, right.

“What’s your name?”

He opens the backpack and pulls out his notebook. That softens me up and I feel a suddenly urge to protect him. I’m blaming Christmas if I feel this weird. Or maybe I should blame him. Or his eyes. Or the fact that he is so beautifully out of place.

*Lucas*, he scribes down.

“Please to meet you, Lucas. I’m Pete,” I say, holding out my hand.

He seems hesitant for a moment, then he looks at his hands. He removes one of his poor gloves and wraps his fingers around mine. That small gesture, his politeness, makes me even surer that this guy has not been living on the streets for a long time and, at the same time, it makes me want to hug him. Yep, there must be something wrong with me.

He smiles and blushes a little. God, he’s so cute! No. He’s handsome. Really, really handsome, but with a gentle beauty.

Finally he takes off his hood and I can see that his hair is the same color of his eyes: a golden brown, almost reddish. A few strands, which are no longer held in place, fall over his eyes as he leans over to sip his chocolate. He sticks out his tongue to quickly clean up his lips and I have to look away because I feel like a pervert. I know I’m not, but his handicap makes me feel like a voyeur, as if I were watching a life not mine through a glass that doesn’t allow me to reach its sound.

Suddenly, I don’t know what to say without sounding intrusive. Weird, considering that usually I don’t give a fuck about being intrusive.

“Do you like the chocolate?” Wow, what a good question, huh?

He nods, smiles and writes a fast *thanks* on his notebook.

“No need to thank me. My pleasure. May I ask you how did you end here?”

His honey-eyes take a darker shade and he lowers them, swallowing.

*Friend went astray. He wanted things from me. I left. Looking for a job.*

Oh, now it’s clear. I knew he wasn’t a common homeless.

“I’m sorry. You were brave, though. It’s not an easy decision to leave a secure place to end up begging…”

He tighten his lips and writes faster: *I’m not brave. I ran away. No sex for money.*

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “Did he want you to become a prostitute?”

He nods. I’d like to ask him where I can find this pretty little friend of his, so I could make him blow his teeth one by one.

“I wish I could help you…”

He smiles showing me the hot chocolate, then he writes *you are already doing it*

I have to restrain myself, because Lucas really is a cutie pie. He’s too sweet to be true.

I speak before even thinking. “Do you want to come to my place?”

He stares at me dumbstruck, and a shadow of pure terror passes on his face. Fuck! I’ve got the words all wrong. How could I have said something like that, after what he has just told me? He quick puts away his notebook and I try to grab his arm.

“No, wait.  Don’t go!”

He starts to wave his hands and I know he is using sign language, but I don’t understand shit! I try again to grab his hands to make him stop. I need for him to look at my lips.

“Lucas, stop. Calm down! I didn’t mean to scare you, or offend you! I just wanted to give you a warm place to stay. Look at me!”

Fuck! He doesn’t look at my face, he doesn’t read my lips and it’s so frustrating! I get up to try to stop him, but he wriggles out of my grip and in a moment he’s outside, engulfed by the crowd.

 

  
 _Lucas_

  
What the hell was I thinking? Was I really deluded enough to believe Pete wanted to help me without anything in return? I don’t even know him, and he doesn’t know me. Just because he was dressed up as Santa Claus doesn’t mean he’s a good person.

They are all the same. They are all equally disgusting. Since I’m deaf and mute they think I’m some kind of rag doll, to use as they wish.

I’m gay, sure, but that doesn’t mean I’d like to have sex with the first handsome man who offers me hot chocolate.

He seemed so nice... He pretended to be understanding... He faked interest just to be able to take me home with him. Yet, he seemed so sincere…

  
I’m walking so fast my legs hurt and I begin to stumble because my muscles are stiff from the cold. I turn into an alley; I lean against the wall and close my eyes, breathing heavily. Maybe if I stop walking and try to think straight, my head would clear and I’d stop panicking.

  
I saw the way he stiffened when I explained the reason why I ran away, and his smile while he asked me to go to his place. I don’t understand... He looked worried and tense, he was sincere. I didn’t listen to him because I was too angry and disappointed. Living on the streets is affecting me in a way I don’t like.

Perhaps I was too hasty in judging him…

I acted like a fool. This life is making me more and more distrustful of the world, of the people…

 

Suddenly, a terrible pain explodes in my head, and then the lights of New York go out.

  
  


_Pete_

  
I’m not used to go after the things I want, especially if it is too much of an effort. But right now, standing in this bar, I suddenly realize that you don’t always need a great sign from the above to realize that you have something beautiful in your hands, you don’t need some neon light to tell you to follow your instincts, and grit your teeth to get your prize. No, sometimes you just need to listen to that slight twitch of the organ that beats in your chest. 

I never chased anyone in my life, and yet I find myself on the street, looking around for a glimpse of a black hood or golden hair. There are still a lot of people around. It’s Christmas Eve, and they all are scrambling to buy the last gifts before going home to their families. Mine is out of town this year and I have no one to celebrate with. My friends have their own families, but I don’t mind the idea of spending the evening in front of the TV with some Chinese food and a beer. It’s just a night like any other for me.

No, actually, not anymore.

Suddenly this Christmas Eve has a new meaning. Because if it’s true that I’m not a really good person, it’s also true that, in some way, Lucas has stirred something inside of me, and I want him to have his Eve, his Christmas and maybe even a gift.

I figure it’s time to leave the street full of shimmering lights. It’s time to look in the dark alleys, to take courage in both hands and go in search of a couple of honey-colored eyes. Because he’s worth it. And because I don’t want him to think I wanted to hurt him. And if he still refuses to pay attention to me, I will take his face in my hands and force him to look at my lips.

 

The first alley it’s creepy even if it’s empty; the second and the third ones are inhabited by a few homeless people, who glare at me. I sink my hands deeper into my jacket pockets and keep walking.

  
I almost miss him, mistaking him for a sleeping homeless man, but then I recognize his shoes and sweater. My heart stops in my chest when I notice a red stain in the snow.

I run to find him with his face on the ground, his nose bleeding. His eyes are closed and he is unconscious.

“Oh, God, please, please let him be okay,” I whisper as I feel his pulse. The beat is there, loud and clear. I look around and I see that his backpack is gone. Someone probably attacked him to steal it. I curse behind my clenched teeth and then I shake him softly, pushing his hair off his forehead. After a few moments that seem eternal, his amber eyes open up and he looks at me.

I can’t help but smile. “Hey, Lucas... how are you feeling?” I ask as I watch him try to get up.

He doesn’t seem to be injured, except for the nosebleed and a bump on the head.

He cringes against the wall and for a moment I catch only confusion on his beautiful face. I raise my hands without touching him.

“Lucas, tell me… are you okay? What happened?”

He nods and then turns around looking for his backpack, perhaps to pick up his notebook, I guess. When he realizes that it’s gone, he begins to crawl in the snow, almost desperately, shaking his head vigorously. The strange sounds coming out from his throat squeeze my heart.

I get close to him and bent over, touching him so slightly for not scaring him.

“Someone has stolen it. I think you’ve been attacked because they wanted your backpack,” I say when he finally looks at me.

Oh no, fuck no. Those beautiful eyes fill up with tears and I would like to be Bruce Banner to go Hulk and find the piece of shit who took away his things.

“No, don’t cry. Hey, look at me,” I say, taking his chin in my hand when he avoids my gaze. “There’s been a misunderstanding earlier. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted you away from the cold tonight, and now I insist. After what happened, you should really come with me. I have disinfectant and ointment at home. I won’t do anything to you. I’m not going to hurt you. Do you think you can believe me?”  
After a few seconds, seconds that he spends looking at me, as if he is trying to enter my brain to see if I’m lying or not, he finally nods. And I smile again.

I help him to stand up and hold him against me for a while, until I’m certain he is able to walk alone. When I let him go, I instantly miss the warmth of his body. The cold has never felt so cold. I’m beginning to think I was the one who took a blow to the head.

“I live nearby. Do you think you can walk?”

He nods and he lowers his gaze. He runs his sleeve under his nose to clean up the blood and he walks with me toward the unknown. I’ve just decided that he is my Christmas gift.

  
  
 _Lucas_

  
I blink, trying hard not to cry. They took everything from me... even the little I had. How naive of me to think I would be able to survive on the street? My notebook and my precious books are gone. I no longer have the little money I had managed to save to finally sleep in some seedy hotel.

I have nothing clean to wear. I don’t have anything at all.

But…

I have this beautiful stranger, walking beside me. A stranger who chased me just to tell me that he didn’t mean no harm, and now he is taking me home with him to help me. A stranger who walks without looking at me, but pauses to give me time to keep up the pace.

Pete, are you really Santa Claus?

 

It’s true, he doesn’t live far away. We get there after about fifteen minutes. The apartment is small, but so cute. It is painted with light colors and the furniture is in shades of gray and black, as well as the sofa.

I stare at him because I don’t want to miss the moment when he will speak. It’s already pretty obvious that I fucked up refusing to listen to him earlier. I’d gladly not repeat the same mistake. He seems to feel my eyes on him because once he hangs up his coat he smiles at me.

“Please, have a seat. I’ll get something for your nose and your head.”

I nod and sit obediently, even though I’m afraid to stain his couch. I’m all wet, and my clothes are crusted with mud and dirty snow. I shiver and yawn.

A light touch on my shoulder makes me turn and I find myself under the intense scrutiny of Pete’s dark eyes. He smiles again and I try to reciprocate. Then he sits next to me and cleans up my nose, removing the dried blood from the nostril. He also cleans my cheek.

 

You are just so beautiful, Pete. And kind. And I was so wrong about you...

 

He inspects my scalp and I grimace when he touches the bump which has already sprouted on my head. His hand makes me turn around and I meet his gaze. He stares at my lips and I can’t avoid to lick mine. What am I doing? He’s not about to kiss me, for God’s sake! I’m sure I’m blushing and I’m about to divert my eyes, when he smiles, urging me to look at him.

“I’ve prepared some clean stuff in the bathroom. If you want, you can take a hot shower and put them on. You are not going anywhere tonight. And I don’t accept a _no_ for an answer.”

I blink and find myself nodding. I decide to trust him, to allow him to be as gentle as I thought he was from the very first moment.

  
The bathroom is small but clean. The stream of water is hot and strong, it crashed over my tired body, making it alive, melting the tension away. I wash myself twice from head to toe, and when I came out of the stall my skin is flushed from friction and heat. The clothes on the stool turn out to be a large and warm gym suit. You can’t imagine how wonderful it is to feel the softness of a clean and warm garment after days spent in the cold, wearing the same clothes.

  
When I leave the bathroom, a lifetime later, Pete is still on the couch. The house smells good. He has turned off the lights and turned on the TV, and a small Christmas tree stands glowing next to the window. I walk to his side and he turns around to look at me with a smile, and then he claps his hand on the couch next to him. He hands me an ointment and beckons me to put it on the bump, then he gets up and disappears into what I think is the kitchen. I feel confused, but slowly my defenses are going down and I’m squatted on the couch, smearing the ointment on the bump. When a plate appears in front of my face, I turn to look at Pete with wide eyes. He made me pancakes with syrup and strawberries!

“I don’t have much food because I wasn’t planning to have guests or celebrate, but I hope you like them.”

I nod and take the plate, resting it on my knees. I keep looking at Pete and I follow him with my eyes when he sits next to me, then I hand out the plate gesturing for him to take one of the pancakes.

“No, they are all yours,” he says, winking at me. And God, I feel myself blushing so hard. Again. I feel so ashamed, but I’m too hungry... so I start to eat. I eat so quickly that my cheeks are full of food. God, I must look like a chipmunk. Pete seems to think the same, because he starts laughing, and I self-consciously put my hand over my mouth, swallowing hard. Magically, a cup of hot tea appears in his hands which I can’t refuse. It must be Heaven.

  
It’s at times like this that I really wish I could talk. That I wish I could say a proper thank you without having to mimic it or write it down. And I don’t even have my notebook. So I do the only thing that I can: I put down the plate and the cup, I turn to him and hug him. Tight. Now I know for sure Pete is no Santa Claus. No, he is my Christmas present.

  
  
 _Pete_

  
What do you do when you find the body of a guy that you like so much pressed against yours, holding on to you for dear life, for what you think it’s presumably gratitude? What do you do when every part of your being screams to look at him, and kiss him and squeeze and cuddle him to protect him from the rest of the world? What do you do when you know you can’t do that? And what do these desires say about me?

  
He smells nice, clean – like sugar and strawberries – and I’m so overwhelmed by my feelings that I’m dumbfounded for a few moments. Luckily, I manage to lift my arms and return the hug. With my lips close to his ear I just murmur: “It will be okay.”

What am I supposed to say? _I like you and I want to kiss you_? _You smell so good that you’re making me lose my fucking mind?_ It would be cowardly. I would do it just because I know he can’t hear me and, although they are nice things to say, it seems vile to indulge in this sudden spurt of honesty, taking advantage of this handicap.

I count from one to five, and then to ten, and then to twenty, but Lucas doesn’t move. I hear him breathing slowly, but he doesn’t move. For a moment, I think he might have fallen asleep with his head against my shoulder, but then I hear him sigh. His eyes enter my field of vision, and suddenly I find it hard to breathe. Chestnut honey, thick and sweet.  
I try to read his gaze. He is staring at me again, and again he’s licking his lips. This time I don’t speak, there’s no need to say anything. I lick my own lips, and I go back to look into his eyes, reading a silent permission into them. I lean slightly, and I savor the sugar that coats his mouth, or maybe it’s just the taste of his lips. And then he opens up and the explosion of flavors and scents and sensations is so intense that I feel like drowning while his tongue seeks mine, and caresses it in a slow dance.

He has tears in his eyes when we break apart and I wonder if the kiss was not to his liking, but his cheeks are flushed and the bulge between his legs tells me that I shouldn’t worry about that.

I hadn’t realized that it’s midnight and its Christmas.

Granted, I would hardly have noticed even a midnight sun or an alien invasion.

The guy in front of me has my undivided attention.

He’s sitting there, with his whole world inside of himself, because outside there’s nothing left for him. He sits there, staring at me like I’m something special and I want to tell him he’s wrong, that I’m anything but special, but it’s Christmas and he is too good of a gift for me to refuse.

Lucas looks at me and opens his mouth. His face is flushed and I don’t understand what’s going on.

“What is it? Was it too much?” My voice trembles more than I expected.

Lucas shakes his head and swallows.

And then it happens, something unexpected that takes away the last bit of my breath.

With a stunted voice he says three words: “Thank you, Pete.”

My name. I’ve never realized how good it feels to hear it from someone you care about.

I smile and take his face in my hands. “No, thank you, Lucas. And Merry Christmas.”

  
His mouth smiles against mine and it tastes like sugar, strawberry and a quiet joy.


End file.
